Seigaku no Yuuta
by Tamashi.no.Koe
Summary: Yuuta never leaves Seigaku. Yumiko is relieved. Syusuke is elated. And Yuuta? Yuuta clenches his teeth and fights to make his Aniki's school acknowledge the next Fuji legend. Oh, the consequences of his single decision are pretty wild...


**SEIGAKU NO YUUTA**

* * *

_Chapter One - **The Helplessness of Onlookers**_

* * *

After another long day at college, Fuji Yumiko was exhausted.

Sure, she had been warned that college courses were taxing—when you were in a lecture hall with over a hundred people, no one stopped to make sure you got your notes down. But she hadn't expected the classes to be so _draining_. Her normally nimble mind felt like it was stuck in tar, and the aching cramp in her right hand didn't help.

That was why, when the familiar sight of her house came into view, Yumiko started to let out a relieved sigh. Her school dormitory was pleasant enough, but there was no place more relaxing than her house, her room.

Or rather, there _had been_ no place more relaxing.

Swallowing the sigh before it had fully formed, she found that her sluggish brain had somehow managed to tense up, even in its lethargic state.

She let the sigh out after all.

The truth was, Yumiko was becoming more and more apprehensive about what she would find when she stepped through her front door these days. Personally, after leaving her college and the lessons that sent her reeling, she was in no mood to return to a home with equally mind-boggling problems.

And yet that seemed to be exactly the case.

Recently, Yumiko was starting to feel that the Fuji residence was fast becoming a battlefield, where a silent war waged every time she looked. And like all things Fuji-related, the circumstances were never as simple as the normal squabbles and fights over the TV remote her friends often complained about.

No, what happened under her roof had to go and defy all the laws of conflict itself—it was a 'war' in which only one party proved hostile, while the other was all but begging to be allowed to make peace.

In all the cases she had ever read about in history books, the war ended once it had reached that stage.

But then, those books had never mentioned Fuji involvement, which probably explained things to some degree.

Pulling out her key, Yumiko took a deep breath and slotted it into the lock, opening the front door noiselessly.

She was almost certain of what she would find. Her father, at work; her mother, either doing her part time job or at the Recreational Center being a volunteer; Yuuta, gone out somewhere and Syusuke…Syusuke hanging around trying to hide the fact that it made him sad Yuuta had gone out somewhere. Alone. Again.

The _really_ sad thing was, Yumiko didn't even need her tarot cards to predict any of this.

Stepping over the threshold, she quietly shut the door and slipped off her shoes, padding barefoot through the hall, peeking into the family room, the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom hopefully.

You see, there was a peculiar belief Yumiko held about her predictions. It was that, if she predicted right—and she usually did—then she was completely right. If she predicted wrong, she was completely wrong.

She believed that no prediction of hers could ever be_ partly correct_.

Which was why she had taken to going though this ritual every time she came home. If, for instance, she one day arrived to find her mother on the sofa, doing embroidery, or her father in his easy chair with a newspaper, the hopefully her brothers…

But it was never so. The rooms on the ground floor were empty and silent as tombs.

Disappointed, but in no way surprised, Yumiko headed up the stairs instead, the mahogany steps creaking slightly under her weight. The house was too big, she sometimes thought. With a house so big, its inhabitants could afford to keep to themselves.

As she passed Yuuta's room, Yumiko almost didn't bother to look inside; her predictions never fulfilled themselves by halves, anyway. When she did take a routine glance, it was only to dully confirm what she already knew—her youngest sibling was not home.

Beyond his room were hers and Syusuke's. She did not stop by her bedroom, but discreetly appeared in the doorway of her brother's. A book lay open in front of him, a pencil held loosely in his hand.

Silently, she stood there, watching.

Yumiko used to be able to learn a lot about her family like this, watching unnoticed when they thought they were alone. Tiny frowns and lips pressed together let on much more than hours of 'heart to heart' talks, she'd found out through years of experience. She was really good at interpreting the little signs too, if she said so herself.

Not that she was exactly comfortable with her...observing. But Yumiko had long since accepted it as a Fuji family tradition that what you were told and what you were intentionally allowed to see was often leagues away from what anyone really felt.

The exception being Yuuta of course. He was direct enough. But then he really didn't hang around a lot being direct, so even with his directness there wasn't much to go by.

Syusuke, on the other hand, was right here. And so Yumiko watched.

Today, though, she couldn't even tell if he was genuinely concentrating on his studies, or simply staring blankly at the page.

He had learned to hide that too.

"Syusuke?" Finally, she called out to him.

"Nee-san, you're home," the mild teen said pleasantly, getting up from his swiveling chair.

"How are you today?" Yumiko asked casually, stepping forwards to meet him.

"I'm fine." They sat down on his bed. "How are _you_, Nee-san?"

Frankly, Yumiko was beat and wanted nothing more than to flop down on Syusuke's bed and stay there until dinner. But she wasn't going to tell him that. "Just as fine as you are."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Her brother had changed, Yumiko thought sadly. The formalities, the light, polite but distant dialogue he often adopted...and that _smile_. She had used to love that smile. She'd had no idea how he'd managed to be happy all the time, literally, but she'd been so glad he was.

But those days were no more. _That smile _was no more.

Somewhere along the way, it had mutated into something totally different.

Oh, it hadn't changed so much that she could no longer read it to some extent. Syusuke may have inherited their parents' liking and competence for secrecy, but Yumiko could safely say that she was one up in that area. "Is Yuuta around?"

With guilty anticipation she waited to see if her brother's face would shift. It was probably wrong—actually, she_ knew _it was wrong—to try and force the issue, but by Kami, they were supposed to be a family here! If she and her siblings couldn't tell each other _everything_ like they used to, then at least they could stop acting like the formal acquaintances they were fast becoming.

Plus...she kind of liked getting a rise out of her imperturbable brother.

"I think he's playing tennis today, Nee-san," Syusuke said smoothly, not missing a beat. "If you want him for anything, maybe you should call him."

Yumiko studied his face disappointedly. Nothing. Watching had told her nothing. "No," she replied. "I was just asking." She got up. "If you need me for anything, I'll be in my room, all right?"

"All right, Nee-san." Smiling, the boy returned to his desk and picked up his pencil.

Yumiko headed out the doorway, but as she did she glanced back and suppressed a sigh.

* * *

Fuji Yuuta didn't need help.

Fuji Yuuta was the kind of boy who could play tennis against people his Aniki's age and still hold his own.

Fuji Yuuta was the kind of guy who would master a demanding technique like Rising just by reading and watching videos.

Fuji Yuuta was the kind of player that could win _any_ game, against _anyone_ if he just worked hard enough.

That was who Fuji Yuuta was.

At least, what was what Yuuta liked to believe—that it didn't matter if he didn't have his brother's inborn proficiency, because he could do _perfectly well_ without it.

On some days, that was actually true for him. When he'd had a good time on the street tennis courts, met a couple of exciting players and worked up a sweat, he honestly didn't mind being just 'Tensai Fuji's little brother'.

Life was good, then.

But most of the time, he couldn't help but admit that he wouldn't mind having some of Syusuke's natural flair. Being able to accumulate twice the technique in half the time would have been rather convenient. Assuming, of course, that Yuuta's interpretation of 'tensai' was correct—that being a prodigy meant his Aniki could learn _faster_, not that he would _ultimately end up better_.

Yuuta sincerely hoped not; otherwise he could spend the rest of his life working his butt off and _still_ be way behind his brother.

That, in his opinion, would just majorly suck.

Which was why he spent so much time at the street tennis courts near his home. The way to improve himself, Yuuta believed, was through gaining experience. He had learned that way all his life. For a short time he had attended tennis lessons with his Aniki, but had only been taught a few basic exercises. Anything else he needed for his matches—strength, stamina, strategy—he developed _during_ his matches.

That was just the way he operated.

And it was something of which he was very vain.

It didn't often disappoint him either, except for the whole 'still not being able to defeat Aniki' thing. On the whole, it gave him more flexibility to pick up skills that most coaches didn't necessarily teach, or even know. Like Rising. Even his Aniki couldn't use Rising. Not that he needed to, but it _did _count as something Yuuta could do that Syusuke couldn't.

Which counted as a _lot_, as far as Yuuta was concerned.

The art of hitting the ball before it had bounced to its maximum height was first introduced to him as a casual trick Yuuta had once seen a professional player use, but he had been fascinated by it ever since. Good thing he'd had the match recorded on tape. He had played and replayed the tape over and over again until every twist of the waist, every bending of the knees, every twitch of individual muscles had been ingrained in his permanent memory. Then Yuuta had gone out to see exactly how much harder this Rising was to use than it looked.

His mother had complained about torn and dirty clothes for three solid months.

But eventually, he had stopped tripping over his own feet in the rush to intercept the ball soon enough. By then he was averaging two boxes of band-aids a week, not five. A few more days and people had stopped screaming from afar about him having some weird skin disease.

And then had come the real reward.

Before anyone knew what was happening, he was slashing and smashing like nobody's business. Low, early hits were slipping into his game even without him noticing, and suddenly people playing against him were falling to their knees, eyes wide with bewilderment while he walked away, a spring in his step.

They had finally started to notice.

"Hmm…" The opponent he was playing now looked intrigued.

Yuuta felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

"It is fast," the black-haired boy mused silkily. "The returns come almost immediately after I hit…"

That was basically all Rising did. It wasn't showy; people hardly even noticed the abnormal shots before it was too late, sometimes. Which left them wondering why they kept missing the ball by a few inches. Which was Yuuta's point exactly.

"Forty, fifteen," his opponent announced, accepting the lost point graciously. "Still my match point, however."

Yuuta sighed, but nodded. A little extra speed could only do so much.

The other boy served, and the rally began. The peak point of Yuuta's physical strength was past and he was looking forwards to finishing the game. If he lost this match, Yuuta thought, he really wouldn't blame himself for it. His opponent really was quite skilled. Besides, there was something about this smiling, curly-haired boy that made him uncomfortable. He had the distinct feeling of being carefully scrutinized, and because of that, he got very self-conscious.

Which affected his play, obviously.

The opponent, on the other hand, was completely at ease. "There!" he said confidently, and before Yuuta knew it, the ball had landed exactly on his blind spot.

"Game and match," the other boy voiced smoothly, and moving to the net, he shook Yuuta's hand. "You're a first year, am I correct?"

Yuuta jumped. "Er, yes." Was it that obvious?

"I see. What is your name?"

"Fuji Yuuta, senpai." At least, Yuuta thought the dark-haired boy looked a year or so older.

"Fuji Yuuta…" The boy smiled, and peered at Yuuta thoughtfully through half closed eyes like sickle moons.

The brunette looked away awkwardly. There was something that wasn't too…_normal_ about this senpai's smile. It was calculating, it was eerie and even a little sly. Hardly the kind of smile you trusted at once.

"So tell me," the older boy said abruptly. "How did you like the match?"

"Er…" Having been taken completely by surprise by the question, Yuuta scrambled to find a truthful yet appropriate answer. "It was…different. Near the end of it, it was like you knew where I couldn't reach…er…senpai."

The smile widened. "Mizuki," the other boy informed him breezily. "And I, in fact, _did_ know."

This Mizuki was plainly not a prime example of modesty.

"That is the only reason why I was able to return so many of your shots," he continued. "Tricky technique to deal with, isn't it, Rising? But with correct data, any player's hits are reduced to returnable ones. Including your older brother's."

Yuuta twitched, startled, and already bristling. "What does _he_ have to do with this?"

"Nothing, nothing," Mizuki waved it off airily. "I am merely illustrating the fact that he _can_ be defeated, tensai or not."

To be quite honest, Yuuta doubted the accuracy of that statement. True, this Mizuki played well. He had a high level of standard skill and could figure out peoples' weaknesses in a couple of games to boot. But he wasn't enough to beat Syusuke. Not quite. Except Yuuta couldn't really _say_ that, of course. "I guess… But I'm no good with data and numbers and stuff like that, so…" He shrugged.

They walked leisurely to some nearby benches and sat down. "I only mentioned data as one method of accomplishing the goal," Mizuki explained patiently. "There are other ways."

Perhaps there were. But Yuuta was as sure as heck he didn't know any such way which could be applied to him. "Yeah…maybe…"

"Of course there are," Mizuki insisted with conviction. "It does not require prodigious talent either. There are some things you are _trained_, and not _born_ to do, Fuji Yuuta."

Again, Yuuta could think of a whole boatload of counter examples to this claim, that of his Aniki being at the top of the list.

And yet, somehow, it struck a chord.

It had been a while since he had found a fellow believer in simple, plebeian, good old hard work. He looked up with renewed interest. "Trained to do?"

"Yes." Taking his racket, Mizuki got to his feet, giving a single wave in the direction of courts adjacent to the ones they'd just been using.

"Oi, Mizuki!" Two boys approached the bench. Both looked about the same age as the friend they were hailing, and both carried tennis rackets. One wore an inconveniently long red strip of material around his forehead, covered partially by short black hair. The other had fashioned his hairstyle like a comically frozen wave, combed to one side. It was in a shade similar as Yuuta's. But much more noticeable were his visibly produced lips.

"Your match was so interesting, dane!" The unfortunate-looking brunette senpai exclaimed loudly. "Almost as interesting as my match."

Really, what was _with_ these guys and their egos?

"Stop showing off, Yanagisawa…" the senpai with the red ribbon muttered.

Mizuki made no retort, only smirked in a very superior way. "I had an inspiring opponent."

Yuuta reddened, highly flattered. Very few people spoke of _him_ as 'inspiring'. Those kinds of comments were always directed at his Aniki. Never at Yuuta.

The thick-lipped Yanagisawa made an exaggerated attempt to carefully to give the boy sitting on the bench, clutching a towel and feeling conspicuous, a once over. Mizuki and his friends, it seemed, shared a common liking for observation. Or looking like they were doing it, anyway.

"Ne, ne," Yanagisawa spoke up at last, "What was that thing you did to make the ball go faster? It was really fast, dane! Even Mizuki was kind of too slow…" He frowned deeply. "Maybe even I would be too slow, dane…"

Despite the bland self-glorification in that last remark, Yuuta could hear envy slipping into the egoistic senpai's tone, strange and pleasant to Yuuta's ears. His misgivings about Mizuki were fast fading in what he swore was the friendliest, most welcoming atmosphere he'd been in since…

Since a long time ago.

"Ne, ne, what's your name then?"

Yuuta hesitated. "Fuji Yuuta," he obliged at last, glossing hurriedly over 'Fuji' and putting extra emphasis on 'Yuuta'.

"So, Yuuta-kun!" Yanagisawa puffed out his chest in a ridiculous imitation of bravado—or maybe it was genuine bravado, only looked ridiculous to anyone but Yanagisawa. "How would you like to play a match with _me_?"

Slightly wrong-footed, Yuuta nonetheless quickly agreed. His uncertainty concerning these queer new acquaintances was depleting rapidly, that was for sure. There was something compelling about the invitation this eccentric individual extended, something about these odd new friends that warmed him to them better than his supposedly charismatic brother could…

Something about the way their strange approval made him feel.

Accepted.

Admired.

Applauded.

Acknowledged.

With Mizuki, Yanagisawa and the senpai with the red-ribbon who eyed him cautiously but with no unfriendliness, Yuuta felt like…

Like he _belonged_.

* * *

They said Fuji Syusuke had it all.

They knew that he could breeze through school without losing any sleep over homework or exams. They knew that he made people his friends even before he had spoken to them; that his smile and good looks captured the hearts of flocks of girls without him even noticing he was doing it. They knew that no opponent could ever pose an intimidating threat to him on a tennis court, because he could simply pull new techniques out of thin air to suit the situation.

They knew he could win a positively unreal game using equally unreal moves without even showing the full extent of his potential.

Basically, they knew him as the next best thing to perfect.

And Syusuke himself?

_I can't possibly be perfect_.

Because perfect meant flawless, perfect meant nothing and nobody could find a single thing undesirable about him.

You weren't supposed to hate perfect.

Were you?

"Yuuta, you're home!" Upon hearing the door open with a swoosh of evening air, Syusuke hurried out of his room and down the stairs into the hallway where his brother was just taking off his shoes. His tennis bag lay beside him, having been discarded wearily.

"…Oh…Aniki…"

Yuuta had had a pleasant day, Syusuke thought. There was no glare in his eyes, no snap in his voice. "How was tennis today, Yuuta?"

"…It was okay…"

Syusuke smiled brightly, taking up the abandoned tennis bag in a silent offer to carry it up to Yuuta's room for him. He was delighted when Yuuta made no attempt to stop him. "Did you meet anyone new?"

"…Ah…Yeah, I did."

_Wow_. Syusuke reveled in his brother's willingness to talk. _He_ _must be in a wonderful mood!_ "Was he a good player then?" He let the questions flow more freely, more eagerly. "But even if he was, I'm sure you won, right, Yuuta?" Toss in a compliment and he couldn't go wrong.

Or so he thought.

"You're _sure_ I won?" Faster than the time it took for a tennis ball to hit the ground, Yuuta's brow creased heavily into sharp, unforgiving folds. "What do you mean, _I'm sure you won_? So what if I don't win as much as you? At least the times I _do_ win are because of my own hard work, not some freak tensai gene!"

"No, Yuuta—" Alarmed, Syusuke rushed to clarify himself, but—

With an enraged growl, Yuuta wrenched his bag out of Syusuke's limp grasp and stormed up the stairs, charging into his bedroom and slamming the door.

The house went quiet.

"Yuuta…?"

Syusuke hadn't moved from his position, one foot ahead of the other as if to give chase and one hand in the air as if to take back what had been snatched from him. Blue eyes opened to half mast, and then slowly closed again, blotting out the blurry, watery, distorted images formed.

_No_, he whispered to himself in the depths of his mind. _I can't be perfect_.

If he were perfect, he would know what he was doing wrong.

* * *

Unbeknown to either of her siblings, Yumiko stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching.

She felt so helpless.

She felt so _useless_.

She was their older sister, and what had she done for them? Nothing. Nothing at all. She was supposed to offer her guidance, her support, but she felt as though she needed those things herself.

Because her family was falling apart, and _there_ _was nothing she could do about it_.

Her college education hadn't covered this. All her life experience hadn't covered this. She doubted _anything_ had covered the insanity that was tearing her brothers, who had once been so close, away from each other.

They should have grown up together to become fine young men, she thought sadly. They should have been a team and shone.

And they did.

Shine, that is.

Syusuke, talented and creative, adaptable and dependable. Yuuta, strong in his own way with stubborn determination and an unstoppable fiery spirit.

Oh yes, they shone.

But not together.

**Author's Note**: Ok...for people who already read my work, I know I shouldn't start so many stories at once. But I've just been through the toughest and most important exams in my life so I decided I'd just let go for a while and kick my 'write seven chapters before publishing' rule out of the window. Besides, can you imagine how long it would take for me to write seven chapters of this length?

Anyway, I'd just like to say that sorry, but I can't really update too often for this. I mean, besides the fact that it's longer than any other chapter I've previously published in any story, it's also heavily edited. Really. It's the only story I'll be looking over for over ten times and considering for days before publishing a new chapter. So please be patient, and I'll try my best to make it worth the wait.


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